Spark
by Samhain Feis
Summary: Takes place a couple months after Bilbo leaves. Frodo is alone in Bag End. A songfic to Spark by Tori Amos. I swear its more interesting than it sounds, I'm just a crappy summerizer. Read and review and you'll be my friend... isn't that exciting.


She's addicted to nicotine patches  
She's addicted to nicotine patches  
She's afraid of the light in the dark  
6:58 are you sure where my spark is  
Here  
Here  
Here  
-  
  
It was cold. Cold and dark. Frodo hadn't bothered to start a fire or  
light a candle. He didn't want that. The dark felt somehow comfortable,  
yet at the same time it was malefic. It was as though it had taken up a  
personality of its own. Frodo's only company now. And yet he was still  
utterly alone and he hated it.  
  
-  
  
She's convinced she could hold back a glacier  
But she couldn't keep Baby alive  
Doubting if there's a woman in there somewhere  
Here  
  
-  
The floorboards of Bag End creaked slightly as he walked. He paused in  
front of a window, it was snowing outside. He shivered and walked into the  
study where he would do little more than stare blankly into the empty  
hearth. It seemed that he was doing that more often these days, or nights,  
sometimes he couldn't figure out what time it was.  
  
Somehow it seemed as though a part of him had gone with Bilbo as he left.  
He didn't feel like he was completely here anymore. No, he felt a gaping  
void inside himself, not only for Bilbo but for his parents as well. Being  
left again, it was opening all the wounds that he held within his heart.  
He felt as though he was lost in a whirlwind. He was lost and twisted and  
he couldn't get back.  
  
-  
  
You say you don't want it again  
And again but you don't really mean it  
You say you don't want it  
This circus we're in  
But you don't you don't really mean it  
You don't really mean it  
If the Divine master paly is perfection  
Maybe next I'll give Judas a try  
Trusting my soul to the ice cream assassin  
Here  
  
-  
His hand found the handle of a knife. Long before he remembered being  
alone in Brandy Hall and using a knife. It had felt good, reminding him  
that he was more than a ghostly specter. He remembered cutting too deeply  
once and watching the blood flow freely, but they had come and they were  
less interested in the way the blood ran on the floor, the way it pooled  
making little patterns of its own. No, they had not been interested in  
that at all.  
  
-  
  
You say you don't want it again  
And again but you don't really mean it  
You say you don't want it  
This circus we're in  
But you don't you don't really mean it  
You don't really mean it  
How may fates turn around in the overtime  
Ballerinas that have fins that you'll never find  
You thought that you were the bomb yeah  
Well so did I  
Say you don't want it  
Say you don't want it  
Say you don't want it again  
And again but you don't really mean it  
Say you don't want it  
This circus we're in  
But you don't you don't really mean it  
You don't really mean it  
  
-  
The grip on the handle tightened in indecision. He had stopped for Bilbo.  
It had hurt Bilbo to see him doing this to himself; he didn't want to hurt  
Bilbo. The knife made a dull thud as it hit the floor and Frodo's eyes  
followed it, staring as though it were some beast preparing to attack.  
  
-  
  
She's addicted to nicotine patches  
She's afraid of the light in the dark  
6:58 are you sure where my spark is  
Here  
Here  
Here  
  
-  
Frodo lit a candle, a small one. You couldn't let too much light interfere  
in the darkness. Its reflection danced on the knife's blade and Frodo  
stared at mesmerized. The blade cut into his wrist with ease and he nearly  
smiled against the tears in his eyes. It burned slightly, a wondrous  
feeling amid the suffocating numbness.  
  
The blood trickled over his pale arm, covering white scars that lined it.  
It spilled over onto the floor and he watched it making its own little  
patterns on the floor. The blood also reflected the candle. He was  
beginning to feel slightly drowsy and he blew out the candle. You couldn't  
let light interfere in the darkness.  
  
()()()()()()()  
  
Well, that was fun. I'm thinking of writing ficlets for a couple of Tori  
Amos' songs. Oh yes, nearly forgot:  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Frodo, I don't own his candle, I don't own the  
snow, and I don't own 'Spark' which is by Tori Amos. 


End file.
